And Life Goes On
by faballa
Summary: It was like tragedy was contagious. And the only people who weren't afraid of catching it were the ones who already had it. And they weren't afraid to share it. And it always felt really bad to tell them how much she didn't care.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I definitely haven't written a thing for nearly six months, so I hope you all like this!

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

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"Hello Mrs. Weasley," the perky secretary greeted Hermione Weasley (although she supposed it should be back to Granger now) with the same too-large smile that showed too many teeth. She'd done this every day for the past six months, ever since she'd taken the job at the front desk of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione didn't even know her name. Every day she'd just smile awkwardly and continue on to her office. Hopefully, the secretary would be the only person to talk to her that day.

It was like tragedy was contagious. People would cross to the other side of the hallway in order to avoid her. Lifts would fall silent the moment she stepped in. Her old friends, with whom she'd giggled about husbands and starting a family now avoided her like the plague. And of course, Merlin forbid she run into Harry or Arthur; the level of absolute grief in the room could cause it to explode.

But of course she knew that she was lucky compared to other victims of the rebellion. Sure, Kingsley couldn't look her in the eyes when he promised that they were on the case, but when the uprising had come it had taken nearly as many victims as the war. And surely burying a child must have been worse than burying a husband. She was lucky not to be left with a child, or to have been killed by that dark haired wizard herself.

_Of course it's always hard to consider yourself lucky when everyone around you treats you as though you could explode at any second_, she thought to herself as she stepped into one of the shiny new lifts. She exhaled, thinking she was alone for one sweet second. A cough from the back of the spacious lift proved her otherwise. She turned about to see the familiar, lean, bespectacled body of Harry Potter leaning into one of the corners.

"It's good to see you again, Hermione," he said pleasantly. His dark blue robes had the familiar, glossy "A" pin stuck into them, signifying his status as an Auror. He must have finished his second year of basic training last summer, Hermione remembered, he and Ron had been put on their first practice case in January, during...

"Yes," she forced words past the lump forming in her throat. "We don't talk nearly enough." She forced a smile at him and he forced one back.

"I suppose you'll be heading over to Molly and Arthur's for the Christmas party?" That was right, the Weasleys were still holding their annual family get-together on Christmas Eve. They hadn't canceled it after they'd lost Fred, and they weren't canceling it this year.

"Yes, I don't see why I wouldn't be," she said tensely. The number for her floor finally lit up, and she rushed out into the hall just in time to hear Harry yell, "Hermione!"

"I'll talk to you later!" she called over her shoulder. Hopefully she wouldn't see him until Christmas. She still had ten days to think up of pleasant conversations about work, her colleagues, and her non-existent social life. She had ten days to think of every way possible to dance around what had happened last January.

She had managed to land a spacious corner office, provided that she share it with one other worker: Draco Malfoy. Draco wasn't her first choice for an office mate, but he was better than some. He wouldn't try to talk to her, and he had yet to mention how "So, so sorry" he was. But lately the office had been quieter than usual; he hadn't been in for nearly two weeks. "Maybe St. Mungo's finally took him in," she laughed to herself.

"Oh you didn't hear?" A gossipy, middle-aged witch appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The amount of widows in London had increased greatly after the war and the rebellion, and it seemed like all of them had taken jobs at the ministry in order to support their families. They always wore bright robes, tacky jewelery, and too much makeup, and they _always _wanted to gossip, no matter how inappropriate the circumstance was.

"Hear what?" Hermione sighed, pulling the sleeve of her navy blue robe to cover her fist, a nervous habit of hers.

"Dear Draco lost his fiancée!" Hermione felt herself gasp, even though she'd not even known he was engaged. "Oh, yes, it's quite awful," the woman said in hushed tones. "She was in her last session of training and she was _ambushed,_" the woman whispered the last word.

"I didn't even know he was engaged," she said mostly to herself.

"Well," the woman sniffed. "Maybe if you actually talked to people you'd know what was going on around here," she stalked off, her pink shoes smacking against the floors.

Hermione sighed. Sometimes she didn't talk to people because they reminded her of Ron. Sometimes she didn't talk to them because they had everything she was longing for. And sometimes she didn't talk to them because the people she worked with were utter prats.

"I still don't see why we invited _them,_"George muttered, glancing over at Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. He was standing around with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jet-black robes, a child-like scowl playing on his lips. His mother stood stiffly in neatly tailored green robes, her nose wrinkled up as usual.

"Give them a break," Ginny snapped, crossing her arms. Hermine noticed that her red Christmas sweater was beginning to stretch tighter over her midsection. "His fiancée just _died, _and her husband's in prison. Not to mention that Narcissa saved Harry's _life._"

Hermione looked away as George and Ginny went back to bickering. All around her people were chattering away, clutching drinks and food. Bill was entertaining Slughorn and Hagrid with some joke about a dragon slayer and a prostitute. Fleur was, as usual, showing off her very pregnant belly to anyone in a ten-foot radius. Percy and Arthur were carrying on some conversation about (what else?) work. A year ago these people had been her family. Today she was just another guest.

"Hermione," Ginny said suddenly, pulling away from her argument. "I need to talk to you. _Alone,_" she emphasized the last word through grit teeth. The two of them stepped to the back of the room, where the only other people were Draco and Narcissa, who clearly couldn't care enough to listen. Ginny leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "Listen, I haven't told anybody this yet, not even Harry, and I'm really not sure what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm—" her last words were cut off by an agonized scream as Fleur's knees buckled and she clutched at her stomach.

"The baby's coming!" cried Bill, his scarred face lighting up brighter than Hermione had ever seen it.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Hermione asked Ginny while they both watched Bill guide Fleur over to the couch.

"I said—"

"She can't deliver the baby here! Get a bloody midwife!" Narcissa yelled, her voice overpowering Ginny's. She looked over to see her friend smiling anxiously at her.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I still didn't hear you," said Hermione, shrugging apologetically. Near the front of the room Narcissa and Molly looked like they were about to start a duel. Molly put her hands on her hips and set her mouth in a firm, straight line as all the noise in the room began to die down.

"I said I'M PREGNANT!" Ginny shouted into the silence. Molly's mouth dropped open. The champagne glass in Harry's hand crashed to the floor. If the room had been silent before, now it was practically dead. After a few moments of horrible, horrible silence, George finally snickered, "Who's the father?"

"George!" Molly all but screamed.

"That isn't funny," Arthur hissed as Ginny fixed her brother with the worst look possible. Fleur let out another scream, her normally white face turning a blotchy red. Molly immediately began rushing around, fetching cool rags, water, and a Mediwitch book. Ginny quickly tried to persuade Harry that yes, the child was his, and no, she hadn't been sleeping around. Arthur seemed torn between chastising his (unmarried) daughter, and congratulating his son. Many of the guests had stepped out of the room in order to make space for the family. Narcissa had left in a fit of nausea. Hermione was just about to leave when she felt a tap in her arm.

"Dear Merlin let's get out of here before that thing starts crowning," Draco Malfoy whispered in her ear.

Under normal circumstances she would have cursed him for calling her late husband's soon-to-be-born niece or nephew a "thing," but considering all that had happened today, she hissed back, "Let's go."

**A/N: **Do you like it? Should I keep going?


	2. Chapter 2

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews!

Draco Malfoy tapped his finger three times, looked up at one of the lighting fixtures, and slurped his cappuccino as loudly and obnoxiously as he possibly could. Hermione cringed. There was no way a grown man could possibly be this annoying on purpose. He emitted another loud slurp and pushed his chair back on two legs, his head tipping back with it. Finally, Hermione snapped. "Look," she hissed. His chair slammed back onto four legs. A few of the other patrons in the old Muggle café turned around to look at them. "I don't care if you invite me to leave a party held at the home of my late husband; it wasn't turning out well anyway. And I don't mind if you go for nearly forty-five minutes without talking to me; I don't think you and I have much to discuss," he raised his pale eyebrows but said nothing. "But when you seem set on acting like an obnoxious prepubescent _in public, _then I think it's time for me to leave." She grabbed her black bag and rose to leave.

"Granger," he said coolly, setting his cup down on the battered table, "I know you want me to say some shit about the pain I'm in from losing Astoria," Hermione dropped her bag and sat back down. "I know your expecting me to suddenly open up to you, strictly because your husband was killed last year." He said it so bluntly she felt like she'd been punched. "But I'm not going to talk to you. That party was quickly going from awful to completely intolerable, and I thought you'd feel less guilty if you left with someone else."

She stared it him for at least ten seconds. "You haven't spoken to me since my husband died, and _that's _the first thing you have to say?" He didn't respond, but went back to staring at the ceiling. Hermione took another sip of coffee and glanced around the restaurant. A blonde woman with two equally blonde children struggled to keep them from running around the café. A man who looked like he might be homeless sat at a table, reading a dirty old newspaper. An older couple was sharing a plate of watery-looking eggs. "Do you even miss her?" she asked more to herself than to Draco.

"Granger!" he gasped. "Look, if you want to talk about Ron and have me pretend to listen, fine. But don't expect me to talk to you about my late fiancée. I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. Her!"

"You want me to talk about Ron?" she asked quietly.

"No," he sighed, "but clearly you do."

"It's just, no one's even asked me how I feel about the whole thing. All of my friends were either his family or Harry, and, gods, Harry saw him die," she shook her head. "Molly can't even stay in the room when his name comes up. I can't imagine..." she trailed off. "I'm his wife, and it's like I got out easiest from this. Everyone looks at me like I should be an absolute mess, and when I'm not I feel awful because shouldn't I be in worse shape than anyone else?" Draco was looking up at the ceiling again. "You're not even listening!"

"I told you I wouldn't."

"You said you would pretend to," he smirked and raised his eyebrows at her. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth tug down into a stony glare as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Do you really want more people lying to you, Granger?" he asked softly. His gray eyes were softening. She ignored it.

"You know," she snarled, "most of the time, when my subordinates feel the need to call me by my surname—"

"I don't care what your _subordinates _call you, Granger," he snapped back. "I may get paid less than you, but my job's still a lot better than what they'd give to a filthy mudblood. And I _don't _work for you."

"Dear Merlin, are we resorting to childish insults again? Fine, you're a prat. But I saved your arse on the battlefield and I saved it again in court. My testament kept you out of prison!"

"I don't owe you anything."

"You owe me everything!"

"Fine, you saved me from rotting away in Azkaban, but that doesn't mean I'm going to call you "Mrs. Weasley" every time you pass in the halls. Your husband's _dead_, Granger, and pretending you're still married to him isn't going to bring him back." All of the anger in the pit of Hermione's stomach coiled up as she fought hard not to slap him. Now he was snickering. "I know, I'm an utter prat, aren't I? The worst bloody person in the world doesn't even insult a widow about her late husband, now does he?" His eyes were taking on a somewhat manic glint. "But do you want to know something, Granger? I've stopped giving a damn about these social norms. Know why? I—" His words were cut short by a sharp slap across the cheek.

Hermione was standing, feeling the flush rise high in her cheeks. Her hand still stung from hitting Draco's cheek. Draco himself had gone completely pale and fallen silent, his mouth still slightly open. Silently, Hermione grabbed her purse, spun on her heel, and marched straight out of the café.

Over a week later, Hermione was sitting at her desk unfolding yet another paper airplane. Paper planes constantly hovered over her desk; some from people whose offices where no more than ten meters from her own. And they'd certainly accumulated over the winter holidays, Hermione noted as she examined the layer of planes over her head.

She quickly glanced over at Draco's desk. He was nearly on hour late. She wondered if he'd quit, or gotten an office transfer, without anyone notifying her. All of his things were still there; a small lamp and two photographs; one of his parents and one, in a glass frame, of Astoria. She was about to get back to answering one of the airplanes about cleaning protocol around her desk when the door to the office opened and closed gingerly. Footsteps were moving towards the desk. She heard a sigh and turned around just in time to see the glass frame in Draco's shaking hands slip and crash to the floor, scattering into a thousand pieces.

Hermione jumped up. The glass crackled under her shoes as she moved towards Draco and lay a hand on his arm. "Do you want to talk about her?"

He stared down at her. His breathing was shaky and uneven and his lips trembled as he softly rasped, "Yes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Please keep reviewing! Sorry for the lack of updates for awhile, total writer's block, but I'm back, and hopefully better than ever!

"So you're saying the he insulted Ron, then you, and then you two got into a huge fight in the middle of a Muggle café, you slapped him, and then you agreed to a second date?" Ginny asked, smiling ruefully at Hermione as the two sat in the parlor of her and Harry's tiny flat. Hermione felt a light blush fill her cheeks.

"It's not a bloody date, Ginny," she hissed angrily. This was not a date. She wasn't ready to date. For Merlin's sake, next week was the one-year anniversary since... "He just lost his fiancée, Ginny. Don't you think he may want to talk to someone who's had the same experience?"

"Only if you're assuming he's human," she sniffed. "This is Draco _Malfoy _we're talking about. His surname alone makes him pure evil."

"His mother saved Harry's _life. _You were just arguing with George at the party..."She trailed off, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

"Inviting someone to a party and actually dating them are two completely different things."

"Who's dating?" asked Harry, walking into the room with a very full glass of milk in one hand, and a handful of scribbled parchment in the other. A scraggly beard was forming on his chin and bags were beginning to form under his eyes.

"No one," Hermione said, shaking her head. "What's going on with you? You look like you haven't slept in days."

"It's no big deal," he said, sharing a quick look with Ginny. "I've had to work a little harder lately. There's been a little more work for the Aurors since the Greengrass murder.

"Oh Harry, tell her the real reason," Ginny snapped irritably. "We don't have enough money, Hermione. I can't fly for the Harpies anymore, and we were barely scraping by before I had a job. We're going to lose the flat at this rate." Hermione repressed a snort; their flat was not the kind thing one would struggled to keep. Even though it was in one of the wealthiest and trendiest neighborhoods in London, the flat was roughly the size of the kitchen at the Burrow, and probably had three times the rent of Hermione's own flat just a few neighborhoods down.

"Why don't you just move in with Molly and Arthur?" she suggested reasonably. Ginny snorted loudly and rolled her eyes as if Hermione had just suggested they move back into Hogwarts.

"Trust me, Mum and Dad aren't so pleased with me after I absolutely _ruined_ their Christmas party," she sighed, her muscular body seeming to collapse in on itself. "If we were married they would have been elated. They love Harry, and they're really happy that we're getting on in our lives." She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sloping down into the couch, "They deserve better than this. For God's sake, they lost two kids in five year." She gasped, her voice tight, "I just don't know what to do."

Harry looked at her for a moment, his eyebrows slowly pressing together, "We could get married," he finally said.

"It wouldn't fix anything," she muttered. "We'd still be broke, Mum would still be mad...And it's not like there's any room at the Burrow anyway. Percy still hasn't moved out and George is running his business out of the bloody kitchen."

Hermione froze for a minute, debating whether or not she should say what was on the tip of her tongue. Finally she blurted, "It would fix things."

"Huh?"

"I mean, not permanently, oh God, I'm not supposed to tell you, people really aren't supposed to know..."

"Know what?" Harry said sharply. "What aren't we supposed to know?" His eyebrows were pressed firmly together now and the color was rising in his cheeks. Hermione sighed.

"Fine," she turned away and looked out the window. "Kingsley let slip that there's this new law, but they're keeping it a big secret. After so many families were torn apart in the two wars, he wants to rebuild a 'Family-based Wizarding community' in Britain. So everyone who gets married gets well...paid. A small amount, but enough to say, start a family and build a home." She closed her eyes, feeling her voice get low and strangled, "He wants to keep it a secret because he doesn't think a family can start on money, rather than love."

She looked back just in time to see big smiles spreading over both their faces.

"They'll never go through with it," Draco said, shaking his blonde head. They were out at a café again; a different one this time, as they were both fairly sure that they were no longer welcome at the previous one. "Potter's got way to big a conscience to marry that Weasley girl for money."

"He does love her," sighed Hermione as she tiredly stirred cream into her coffee. "And they're not being greedy. They just want to be able to raise their child in a safe, Wizarding part of London."

"Bah, tell them to move out to the suburbs. It's better than pretending they want to get married. Even prostitutes are upfront about their intentions towards your Galleons." Hermione stared at him, a self-important smirk spreading over her face.

"Draco Malfoy, showing a bit of conscience and integrity. I never thought I'd see the day." He narrowed his eyes dangerously, waiting for another fight. "But I do agree with you," she sighed, not wanting to get banned from another coffeehouse. "Neither of them want to get married, and doing it for money's probably the worst idea they've ever had—"

"They got it from you."

"Shut up. But you know Ginny—well, no, you actually don't—but she's the type of person who gets an idea in her head and doesn't let it go." She gazed down into the still-full coffeecup resting on the table. "Tell me about Astoria," she said suddenly. Draco looked up, the color fading from his cheeks as the haughty smirk dissipated into a more blank expression. "That's the reason you wanted to meet, wasn't it?" He nodded sharply, still silent. The sounds from the café seemed to fade into oblivion. Hermione chuckled a bit, "I didn't think you'd come here just to hear about my in-laws."

"No," he said, somewhat hoarsely. "You're right. You knew her at Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, straight down into her coffee. Hermione remembered clearly the tall girl with the strawberry-blonde hair, the freckles, and the big brown eyes. Her stomach twisted anxiously. Why would talking to him about Astoria be any easier than talking with anyone else about Ron. "We were in a study group together third and fourth year. It seemed odd—we always thought you'd marry Pansy Parkinson—Astoria was so—"

"—Nice?" Draco finished smoothly. "You don't have to dance around it with me, Granger. I know Pansy was a stone-cold bitch, but she was a socially acceptable Death Eater's daughter." Hermione raised her eyebrows but said nothing. "But Astoria, she, well, _wasn't. _She was half-blood—almost as bad as being Muggle-born in my father's eyes—her mother worked in _retail_," he spat out the word like it tasted sour, "sizing for robes at some high-end shop, and her father was some sort of Muggle doctor. And she was _brilliant. _Didn't give a damn about what anyone else said, either." He looked up at Hermione, his gray eyes suddenly soft and tender. "Kind of like you."

**A/N:** It's always nice to be reviewed...hint hint.


	4. Chapter 4

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Typical Disclaimers Apply

**A/N: **Many, many thanks to Hamelia le Claire, Azrulai, sjrodgers108, RadicalReason, Silverbirch, Isabella120, and Sasukekun'sgirl16 for reviewing at least one of the three chapters! Your reviews make me so happy!

Also, I've gotten several requests to continue _Kill Gilderoy vol 1_ (if you're not into OC fics you can totally ignore this), which is the prequel to my short little Esme Slain series. I sort of didn't like where it was going and didn't have time to rewrite the whole thing by the time the story was nearly over. However, now I do have the time to make some changes that will make it an overall better story, hopefully. So that'll probably start up again in a couple of weeks. I'm glad to rewrite though; I've missed Esme a bit, even though I was happy with how the last story ended.

Now that that's over...

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"_Kind of like you."_

A million choice swears ran through Hermione's brain as she watched Draco's face go from flushing pink to very, very white, his gray eyes widening considerably in alarm. "Shit!" he hissed. "Damn it, Hermione, I'm sorry. Fuck!" he muttered, burying his head in his hands.

"No," she sighed, "no, it's okay." He looked up at her, his cheeks still ashen. "I mean, I was the same way after Ron passed. I was practically falling in love with every red-haired bloke I met."

"You have her eyes," he explained pitifully. Hermione stared down at her own shaking mug. Her heart felt like it had been hammered by an epileptic carpenter and her palms were sweating. Her cheeks were as flushed as Draco's were ashen. She remembered the rush of attraction she'd get from just looking at some carrot-topped man who wasn't part of the Weasley clan.

"It's...difficult," she said slowly. "I wanted Ron back so much," she swallowed, "even if it wasn't him. I practically lived with Harry and Ginny for awhile, just so I wouldn't go out and act like a..."

"Scarlet woman?" finished Draco, smiling shyly. She looked away, out the grimy window into the streets. An old man was sitting on a bench, scattering seeds for the birds. Hermione wondered if he knew how easily he could contract a disease from those bloody rats with wings. Probably not. He looked homeless.

"Do they have any leads?" Draco's sharp question yanked her focus off of the man on the street and back into the café.

"They've managed to rule out Severus Snape," she said with a hoarse little laugh. He stared at her, not laughing. "But no, not really. There are a few potential Death Eaters that could have been involved: Sibelius Scorch, Avery Jenner, Isidore Stanley...I think there are a couple more. Did you know any of them?"

He shook his head. "They sound familiar, but I don't think they were in Voldemort's inner circle. They probably don't even have the Mark." Hermione looked down, examining her hands again. The people who'd killed Ron hadn't even been good enough for Voldemort. They were lackeys, disposable, _worthless_ in his eyes. But it wasn't like anything would be any different if it had been Bellatrix who had killed him. "I'm glad to be out of there," Draco said finally, after nearly a minute of complete silence between the two. "You can't even imagine it, Granger. I know it seems awful from the outside, but it's like torture on the inside. No one wants to be there, really. No one sane, at least. Bellatrix didn't even love it, in the end. She stayed...I don't know why. I'd say that she loved him, but I think she just wanted to finally, actually be queen."

"She tortured me," she muttered. "She seemed to enjoy _that._"

"Maybe so, maybe that's why she stayed. But everyone else; Wormtail, my parents...they just knew it was safer on the outside than it was to leave." He looked her in the eyes for a moment. They were gleaming with something more than his usual malice. For once he actually looked...remorseful. "I wanted to stop her, Granger, believe me."

"You didn't turn us in when you had the chance," she said with a sigh. "I guess that's enough."

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The kitchen in the Burrow was always a home to interesting sights, sounds, and often smells. Sometimes it would be a new recipe of Mrs. Weasley's bubbling away on the stove, some creation of George's smoking on the table, or a general battle between family members. One thing that it never was was silent. Except for now, as Hermione tried to feign shock aimed towards Harry and Ginny, their shaky smiles spreading over their faces.

"Married," Molly repeated, her voice stuffed with disbelief. Like everyone else in the room, her eyes had gone wide and her cheeks had gone pale, but her shock seemed more skeptical than, well, actually shocked. "You're getting married."

"Yes, Mum," Ginny said as sweetly as she possibly could. Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't imagine how Ginny had persuaded her to come here, or why Molly has believed, without a doubt, that they were actually there to celebrate Valentine's Day. She should leave now. They were not going to believe them, they were not going to believe them...

"And when did you decide this?"

"Well, you know," Ginny said, fumbling a bit with her words. "We are expecting a baby, and, I mean, it would be nice for it to be raised in a nice family, with a dad and all, and I do love Harry," she added for good measure. "And we were already living together, it was only a matter of time..."

George was staring at them. Hermione knew he could see right through them. Hell, a _blind _man could probably see right through them. He was smirking. Oh, God, he was going to ask...

"You know, Ginny, I didn't think you were a fan of marriage," he said, his wicked smile growing to fill his whole face.

"People change," she responded icily.

"And when is this wedding going to take place," asked Arthur, sounding nearly as skeptical as his wife.

"Actually," said Harry, finally speaking, "we were thinking today."

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**A/N:** Review? Please?


	5. Chapter 5

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Huge thanks to Sasukekun'sgirl16, Vandra, RadicalReason, Rupertgrintlovesmeandonlyme, Azrulai, Sjrodgers108, and Silverbirch for reviewing chapter four!

The current occupants of the Weasley family kitchen stared at the couple, completely gob-smacked. The glass of milk George had been holding was lying in shards on the floor. Hermione was surprised her own jaw hadn't joined it down there.

"You want to get married," clarified Molly, "today."

"Yes," said Ginny cheerfully. She was grinning in a way that made Hermione think they were playing a huge trick on the family. Harry looked a little more shocked at what he'd said, but was smiling along all the same.

"We were thinking we could all just Apparate down to the Ministry," Harry was suggesting. "We do want you all at the wedding."

The look on Molly's face was one of, mortification, shock, and perhaps a little joy. "You want to get married. Today. At the Ministry."

"Wouldn't you rather have a nice wedding?" asked Arthur. "One all of the family can come to, and all your old friends?"

"The sooner the better," Ginny said gravely, although she sneaked a quick wink at Hermione. "People will talk, Mum."

Molly sighed, looking beaten. "I swear to Merlin daughters are more trouble than they're worth.

The Ministry was usually pretty quiet on a Saturday afternoon, unlike during the week when there were paper airplanes everywhere, people rushing from floor to floor, and a general sense of panic and anxiety. Now, a few office workers sat about the fountain, gossiping, and a bored looking secretary was perched at a front desk, but other than that the front hall was uncharacteristically quiet.

"I've got to run up to my office," Hermione said quickly, darting towards the elevators. "I'll be back soon!"

Once she got into the silent elevator, Hermione leaned against one of the walls and slid to the floor. In her life she had seen many horrible, horrible plans, usually involving Harry Potter. Going back in time to save Sirius Black. Breaking into the Ministry to save Sirius Black. Fleeing from the government and hiding in forests for ten months in order to save the world. But marrying Ginny Weasley had to be the worst of them all.

And, of course, this had to be _her _awful idea of a lifetime.

But it wasn't like she'd thought they'd do it. She'd at least thought they'd wait more than a week to get married. How poor were they?

Maybe Ginny was telling the truth. Maybe she really was worried about her reputation. Harry wasn't just some bloke, he was _Harry Potter _for God's sake. And the paper's still loved to follow him around, even when he wasn't saving the world. And Ginny, her years on the Holyhead Harpies hadn't exactly made her an inconspicuous piece of history. But it wasn't as if celebrities never had illegitimate children with one another. But Harry wasn't just some singing like Celestina Warbeck...

While she was arguing with herself, the elevator finally reached her floor and the doors slid open. The familiar carpet, brilliant and blindingly white the first time a person saw it, greeted her, as did the glass walls of the offices. She smiled in spite of herself, seeing Draco Malfoy's slim, pale figure curled over his desk.

When she'd first taken her job for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she'd been no more than a little annoyed to have Draco, who was working some minimum-wage desk-job for the Ministry (she still wasn't sure of what he did), assigned for her officemate. It was nearly two years ago, she'd just married Ron, and was in a generally good place in her life. Having an utter prat of an officemate didn't matter much.

But when Ron died and Lucius was arrested for starting the rebellion, that was when she had begun to _hate _him. She hated him like she had never loathed anything before in her life. His father was the reason Ron was dead. Draco was the reason Dumbledore was dead. He was the reason Remus and Tonks and Fred and countless other people had been obliterated from the earth. He was there when she was tortured, he'd _watched_ for Merlin's sake. And when Ron died he hadn't even cared. He'd never even muttered an apology as she passed his desk on the way to hers. He hadn't given a damn.

And now they were friends. Sometimes life was strange.

"Working weekends?" she asked quietly as she stepped over the threshold into the office. Draco looked up, shocked and confused for a moment, but smiled when he saw her.

"I'm still catching up after, well, you know," he said, his smile fading a bit. "What about you? Are you still obsessive about finishing everything at least two weeks before its due date?"

"Me?" she replied with a little laugh at his jab. "No, I'm hiding from a wedding, actually." He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"A wedding? How lovely!" he said sarcastically. "And you're up here hiding from it?"

"I would honestly rather repeat my entire Hogwarts experience—just as it was, mind you—than attend that crime against humanity and goodness that is the wedding between my two best friends."

"Oh come now, Hogwarts wasn't that bad," she fixed him with a you've-got-to-be-joking look and he grinned. "Alright, it was awful. At least you were never turned into a ferret."

"I was tortured!" she protested, smacking him playfully on the arm, although it was hardly a statement that deserved playfulness. "I nearly died!"

"We all nearly died," he said, laughing a bit. The laughter faded too quickly. Draco looked around, no longer meeting her eyes, as if there was something very uncomfortable on the tip of his tongue. He muttered something quickly and softly, staring out through one of the glass walls.

"What?" asked Hermione, straining to hear.

"I said I would have been married by now," he said, a little louder and clearer this time. "Last Saturday was the date."

"Oh," she murmured. Last Saturday she'd mentioned the idea of marriage to Ginny and Harry. Last Friday he'd broken down sobbing in the office and had had to leave. And nearly two months before that they'd been screaming at each other in a coffeehouse because Molly Weasley had felt bad for the wife and son of a treacherous bastard. "I see."

"I'm sorry to bring you down." He said flatly. "I realize that today should be a magical and romantic occasion for all those involved."

Hermione stifled a snort behind her hand. "Yes, but the true love behind this celebration will keep my spirits high," she said, just as sarcastically. "Look, I think I'm just going to go home. If they come up here asking for me, just tell them I wasn't feeling well, okay?"

"Sure, of course," he said, smiling.

Hermione left, closing the glass door behind her. A few more people were in the corridor outside the offices now. Someone brushed against her back, and when she turned around to see who it was, a small surge of pleasure shot through her as she realized that Draco was still sitting in the office, watching her.

_Yes, _she thought, _sometimes life was very, very, strange._

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	6. Chapter 6

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

Hermione stared down at the newspaper atop her desk. It wasn't as though she'd never seen her picture in the papers before; fleeing from society for a year and then returning and vanquishing Voldemort did tend to attract attention from the _Prophet_. Their story had been front-page news for the whole summer. And of course, she'd been interviewed for her stance on Elfish rights.

But never before had she seen her picture splashed across page six, the infamous gossip page.

The gossip page was new. After the rebellion was crushed, news had grown very boring and repetitive. The Wizarding World was at piece, and there was nothing left to report other than fashion, entertainment, and of course, gossip, written by none other than Rita Skeeter. The page usually featured wealthy Pure-blooded daughters heading out to nightclubs and "hooking up" with slimy-looking Muggle boys. Harry and Ginny's wedding had been examined, Rita often speculating on why the couple had married so quickly, so quietly. Sometimes there'd be photos of her old schoolmates, with shocked headlines like, "Lavender Brown takes up _SMOKING!"_ Hermione often read it for a laugh. But then again, she'd never thought she'd see her picture with Draco under the headline "Muggle-born Rights Activist Dating Son of Lucius Malfoy!"

"So, this is what you meant by "bad news," she muttered, skimming over the article before glancing back up at Draco. The picture was a recent one, taken about a week ago. It had been the first big rainstorm of March, and Draco, of course, hadn't had an umbrella. So, they were walking, close together, under hers. For once Rita's gossip page actually seemed convincing, even legitimate.

And it had to be about her.

"My mother will murder me," he was murmuring, shaking his head absently. "She absolutely loved Astoria, she'd kill me for moving on so quickly."

"I'd be more worried about what she's saying about your dad," said Hermione, reading a little bit closer. "I didn't realize there were so many synonyms for soulless, monstrous killer."

"I don't thing he's ever killed anyone," supplied Draco.

Hermione fixed him with a withering look, "I really, really, don't think that matters." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Do you realize how much trouble we could get in for this?"

"Yeah, my mum's going to kill me—" She waved his comment away with a flick of her hand.

"I mean _here. _At the Ministry. You're not supposed to date your colleague, especially if he happens to be your officemate!" she snapped. "And you've got to fill out forms! Honestly, Kingsley could sack the both of us for this—this _sordid _article."

Draco was staring at her.

"You're going insane," he muttered. "You've gone absolutely insane."

"I have—this is exactly—you couldn't possibly understand—ugh!" she spluttered. She took one last look at him and stormed out of their office and into the hall.

"Women," Draco muttered to himself.

Out in the hall, one of the middle-aged grabbed onto Hermione's arm, a huge grin lighting up her round face. "Oh, my dear," the woman giggled (Hermione swore she'd never met her before in her life), "I've just heard the news." She waved a copy of the _Prophet _in Hermione's face. _Oh, Fuck,_ she thought to herself. "And might I say," the woman was saying, "that Draco Malfoy has turned into quite a sexy man."

She nearly vomited right there on the woman's garish shoes.

* * *

"How on earth do I keep getting invited to these things?" Draco muttered in Hermione's ear. She jumped, having not seen him sneak up behind her. It was Easter morning, and although the Weasley's were not a particularly religious family, Molly never passed up an opportunity to bring the entire family together to eat a gigantic, decadent meal. And, apparently, family also included Draco and Narcissa. And Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood and their respective families. And at least four Hogwarts teachers, from what she could count from her perch at the edge of the kitchen.

"I guess saving the life of a son-in-law does entitle your mother to some family privileges," she murmured back, careful not to look over at him. They'd recovered from their earlier spat over the newspaper, although it was still a little awkward to be seen together in front of anybody who read the _Prophet. _

"Bah," he said; Hermione could hear the grin in his voice. "He saved my life. She was just returning the favor."

She couldn't help but actually turn around and smile at him, "Maybe, after you spend some time in the real world, you'll realize that normal people, especially Molly Weasley, do not think like that." She turned back and looked straight ahead, only to see Arthur, across the kitchen, staring at the two of them. He met her eye and beckoned her towards him with a crook of his finger. "One second," she mumbled to Draco, and pushed her way past McGonagall, Xenophilius Lovegood, and a few dozen red-headed relatives. "Yes?" she asked exasperatedly when she finally reached Arthur.

"Hermione," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder in an unpleasantly fatherly way. "I'm worried about you."

"Oh dear God."

"I'm not angry," he said, irritatingly calm. "I understand that it's been over a year since Ron...passed, and it's time that you moved on. You're a young woman and you can make decisions for yourself."

"No, Mr. Weasley, please allow me too—"

"Now, now, Hermione, there's no need to argue. I'm just worried the Draco Malfoy may not be the...healthiest of choices."

"I know, but he isn't—"

"Yes, I do realize that he's nothing like his father. I _know _that Hermione, I was at his trial. But really, there are so many _other_ suitable boys your age. I mean there's Neville, ah," he searched the room, his eyes landing on a few red-haired cousins, but moving on. "I'm sure there are other good young men your age."

"Arthur, I'm not dating Draco," she said flatly. Arthur, for his part, didn't look too genuinely shocked. "It's just gossip."

He sighed, pushing a hand through whatever was left of his graying, red hair. "I thought that was probably the case. But, well, you know Molly, she reads these things, thinks they're true." He smiled a bit. "I trust your judgment, Hermione, it's just Molly who worries you'll make a mistake while you're grieving."

"She doesn't need to worry about me," Hermione said softly. "She's got enough to worry about."

"I tell her that too, dear," he said. "But you know her." She smiled broadly as he continued. "You're a smart girl, Hermione. If you can keep yourself alive and on the run from the law for a year, I'm sure you can find yourself a nice boyfriend." Hermione shrugged, and began moving herself back through the crowds, over to Draco again.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked, laughing a bit into his drink.

"No," she cast a look over at the glass in his hand. "Are you seriously drinking firewhiskey at ten in the morning?"

"Yes." She raised her eyebrows at him. "What? It's a holiday." She shook her head. "So, what did the old father-in-law want?"

"You are so rude," she muttered. "In fact, he was just telling me how I could do so much better than you." A pink tinge appeared in Draco's normally pale cheeks. "Oh my God you are _blushing_," she laughed, still without looking straight at him. "Well, what is it then?"

"I've been considering asking you something for awhile," he said, "hence the, ah, drinking."

"You're drinking because you have to ask me something. Please, Merlin, Jesus, Buddha, whoever's up there, don't let him get down on one knee," she glanced over at him, grinning but it faded when she saw that he wasn't returning the gesture. "What?"

"Well, it's going to be very difficult to ask you this, especially after the conversation you seemingly just had with Arthur," Hermione felt her cheeks flush. He wasn't asking her this. "And I'm going to feel like an utter prat and a twelve year old for asking you like this, but, would you consider going on a—oh Merlin, I can't believe I'm struggling with this—do you want to maybe go on a date? With me?"

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	7. Chapter 7

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks to Azrulai, sjrodgers108, Isabella120, and silverbirch for reviewing chapter four! You guys are great!

* * *

Draco coughed once, cleared his throat, and coughed again. "Well?" he finally asked, hoarsely, and after about two minutes of utter silence.

"We should talk outside," Hermione finally muttered. Her mind was whirring as she and Draco moved out of the crowded kitchen and outside into the damp yard. Was he rebounding again? The grass was cool against her feet, soaking through her clogs. Maybe he was just desperate for companionship.

"I'm not on the rebound again," he said quietly, as if he was reading her thoughts. "I've thought about it a lot, and, well, I really am quite fond of you, Hermione."

"Huh? I mean, really?" she asked, rather incoherently, but still audibly; she was still rather lost in her thoughts..

"Yes, and it isn't just because you remind me of Astoria. You're brilliant and witty and I'm happy when I'm with you." He looked up at her, his gray eyes shining with warmth. "And really, what harm could one date cause?"

"People will talk," argued Hermione half-heartedly, coming back down to earth. "They're talking when we're not dating, imagine what they'd say if we actually confirmed the story. And what of your mum?" He raised his eyebrows. "You just said last week how she'd kill you if she thought we were involved."

"I did say that, yes. But my mother doesn't run my life, Hermione—"

"You live with her."

"True," he acknowledged, smiling, "but I am an adult. She respects that. And I don't think she'd be too upset if I broke the news to her, instead of the _Prophet._"

Hermione stifled a laugh. "Okay, if you say so. But still..."

"If you're worried it'll upset your family, then we don't have to do it." He put a gentle hand on her arm. "I really do care about you, Hermione, despite the way I've treated you for the past decade or so. These past three months have meant a lot to me, and I'm glad I got to know you. You're a wonderful person." He smiled quickly at her and then moved away, back towards the house.

Hermione hesitated. "Wait," she finally called out, quietly, but still with enough force for him to hear her. He turned back, grinning. "One date," she said firmly. "Dinner at a Muggle restaurant. Next Friday. Dutch pay. Pick me up at seven, have me home by ten."

"It's a date."

* * *

By the time Friday came around, Hermione was regretting her decision to actually go out with Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, the man who had instigated the rebellion that led to the death of her husband. Not that anyone other than Hermione actually noticed that.

"You're dating Malfoy!" Ginny laughed when Hermione came over to ask her for clothing help. "Merlin, this beats anything I could ever do."

"You married your husband so you could get money from the government," Hermione snapped, shutting Ginny up. "And I'm not _dating_ Draco. It's one date. It's no big deal." Ginny ushered her through her flat and over to the bedroom, where a large wardrobe stood parallel to a queen-sized bed. Ginny immediately began rifling through the racks of clothing and pulling out outfits at random.

"I used to wear this all the time, before I got so fat," she said, gesturing at her four-months-pregnant belly. Even whilst carrying a child, Ginny managed to be much more petite than Hermione ever could be. And she seemed to be offering her a dress fit for an eleven-year-old.

"I'm not going out on a date dressed like a prostitute," she said coldly, not even flinching when the flicker of hurt passed over Ginny's face. "I just came over to borrow a pair of shoes, and maybe a nice necklace?" Now Ginny looked less hurt and more confused.

"So you're wearing..._that?_" Hermione glanced down at her rather well dressed self. She'd opted for a nice, black, knee-length dress with three-quarter sleeves. She thought she'd looked quite sophisticated and classy. Apparently not.

"What's wrong with this?" she spread her fingers over the soft black fabric.

"Well, nothing, if you're going for a job interview or a funeral." Ginny faltered for a moment, but immediately her smile flicked back on. "Good God, Hermione, you don't want to scare him off with this McGonagall look!" Hermione glanced down at herself. Sure, her dress was a little conservative, but she always dressed that way. She said so to Ginny. "Yes," Ginny argued back exasperatedly, "which is exactly why you cannot wear that on a date. Now put on this bloody dress." She thrust the scrap of silk at Hermione.

And you can't say no to a pregnant woman.

* * *

An hour later and Hermione was back at her flat, clothed only in a black dress that barely covered her chest and hips, a pair of Ginny's old black stilettos, more makeup than a circus clown, and a butterfly hair-clip. A buzz went off. Someone was waiting to be let in.

She opened up the door to see Draco, looking relatively normal for a wizard masquerading as a Muggle in a sport coat and nice trousers. However, she swore his eyes were going to fall out of his head the moment he saw her. And then the whole image was blown when he burst into hysterics.

"I honestly do not see what's so funny," she muttered, welcoming him in.

"You're dressed," he gasped between giggles, "like a _prostitute!_"

Hermione grimaced, already regretting everything that had led up to this point, all the way back to leaving the Christmas party. "Alright, date's canceled. Go on home."

"No, Hermione, please," he plead. "I found this great Muggle restaurant. You're going to love it, I promise."

"You have one more chance," she growled. "If you call me a whore one more time I am switching offices and having you demoted."

"No, I promise, it's going to be great. How do you feel about Irish food?"

"Irish food?"

The moment Hermione saw the golden arches she knew the date was doomed.

"You're taking me to a _McDonald's_?" She hissed through her teeth.

"I know it doesn't look too nice from the outside," he said gesturing to the fluorescent lighting and advertisements for cheap hamburgers. "But I stopped over at the Burrow today and asked if Arthur knew any nice, quiet restaurants, you know, since he's into Muggles and their culture and all of that. And what do you know, but George said that all the Muggle-borns in Gryffindor raved about this place!" He smiled at her hopefully.

"Draco, the next time you're looking for restaurants, try to remember that the nicest ones aren't sandwiched between a bank and a clothing store," she muttered as they pushed open the glass doors and stepped onto the dirty tile floor, only slightly cleaner than the sidewalks.

"So you don't like it?" he asked quietly as they stood in line, waiting for their food.

"Draco, I can tell you put a lot of care into getting this whole date set up," she said kindly, laying a hand on his arm, "and that really means a lot to me, but—"

At that moment a man, about Arthur's age at most, came up and muttered, "How much for an hour?"

"I don't think you need reservations here, sir, you just wait in line," Draco explained naively. The man laughed hoarsely.

"I meant an hour with her," he said, his eyes taking in Hermione's high heels, bare legs, and semi-revealed cleavage. She honestly felt part of her soul dying at that very moment.

"I—she's not—this is my _date,_" he hissed. The man grinned lasciviously, his tongue poking out to lick his lips.

"I've got cash and no police connections, boy, you don't have to worry with me." He looked at Hermione's face and winked. "Hey, sexy."

"You did not just say that," she snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Tough girl, eh? Well, I like them tough." He looked like the Cheshire Cat. She nearly vomited. Was this man real, or was this some horrible symbolic nightmare?

"It's really time for us to go," Draco said, eying the doors. They quickly sidestepped the creepy man, got back onto the crowded sidewalks, and Apparated back to Hermione's apartment.

"Forty-five minutes," she said, checking her watch. "Well, it lasted longer than I thought it would, and it managed to be one of the most horrifying experiences of my life." She raised her eyebrows ironically, "Well done."

He grinned at her, "Same time next week, then?"


	8. Chapter 8

**

* * *

**

Typical Disclaimers Apply

**A/N: **Hello again! Sorry for the lack of recent updates, I was dealing with not-fanfiction things. But it's okay, because I think I'll be able to update more frequently now! Thanks to sjrodgers108, Azrulai, silverbirch, and RadicalReason for reviewing! If anyone else has had the desire to review but has been too afraid, please, let go of your inhibitions and click the little bluish-purple button! I know it can be scary but after the first time, it's fun!

* * *

The moment she got to her flat, Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief. Draco had left without complaint, she'd managed to get up three flights of stairs without being propositioned, and she had plenty of time to curl up with a cup of tea and a good book. She kicked off Ginny's heels and made her way into the kitchen.

"Hermione!" a familiar voice gasped when she flicked on the light. Harry was standing at the stove, seemingly attempting to make soup in the dark. Of course.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked tiredly. Harry blushed.

"Ginny kicked me out," he muttered. "Something about how I don't appreciate her and how I only married her for the money."

"You did only marry her for the money." Harry paused for a second, shutting his mouth. "Anyway, why are you _here? _Isn't there some sleazy pub for men who get kicked out by their wives?"

"Look, I knew you had a date, and I figured I could just get some food here and then go back home before you got back to your date. Ginny's got to forgive me sometime, and I thought it might as well be tonight."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, completely lost for words. "Your plan was to steal food from me and then go home?" He nodded. "In what world was that a good idea?"

"Look, I understand that it may not be an ideal situation, but where else was I supposed to go? I go to work and then I go home. There's no other places I stop by, and Ron always made it clear I was welcome."

"The only places you go are work and your flat? Seriously? You don't take Ginny out anywhere?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Why would she want to leave the flat? She's pregnant," he said, as if it explained everything. Hermione shook her head, still unable to fully grasp the situation.

"Look," she said, fishing into her purse and handing him a few galleons, "take this. Go to the Leakey Cauldron for the night. I'll visit Ginny tomorrow; I've got to return the dress anyway."

Harry grinned at her, "You're the best."

"You're an idiot," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

The next day Hermione Apparated right outside of Ginny and Harry's flat. Unlike the previous evening, today she was dressed as conservatively as possible; her white blouse buttoned to the top of her neck and her tan trousers fitting comfortably at her waist. She carried the infamous dress folded neatly in her purse.

Ginny's face burst into a smile once she opened the door. "Oh thank Merlin, I was worried it was Harry, coming back to beg for redemption." Hermione stepped over the threshold and inside the flat. It was rather messy—she wasn't sure why she hadn't noticed that yesterday—with piles of clothes on the sofa, plates stacked in a sink, and books and magazines scattered over every flat surface imaginable. "How did your date go?" Ginny asked cheerfully, patting a spot on the sofa for Hermione.

"Your husband stopped by my flat last night," stated Hermione coolly, completely disregarding Ginny's question.

Ginny sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised, I don't think he has any friends other than you." She shook her head tiredly, "I just get so tired of him, you know? Always doting on me and running about. He never even sits down to talk like we would before. It's always, 'Can I get you anything?' or 'Do you need any help?' He doesn't even want us to go out on the town anymore. And every time I suggest it, he says, 'We should stay home. If they start thinking we're not happy at home then they'll stop sending money and send an investigator instead.' Like there's some man at the Ministry who's job is to check out marriages!" She took a deep breath, calming down. "But enough about me. How was your date last night."

"He took me to McDonald's and nearly got arrested for pimping," she said shortly. "You are going to let him home soon, aren't you?"

"Wait, I'm sorry, but what the hell is McDonald's? And what do you mean by pimping?" she asked confusedly.

Hermione sighed, again. "McDonald's is a Muggle chain restaurant that serves inexpensive, terrible food. And a man there thought I was a prostitute." Ginny's face lit up with her giggle.

"A prostitute? You? I often mistake you for a nun!"

"Shut up," she snapped. "And you cannot force Harry to stay another night at the Leakey Cauldron!"

"I'm not letting him come back, Hermione," she said firmly. "Until he starts treating me like a wife instead of a," she paused, "a business partner, he is not coming home."

"What, are you waiting around for him to come to your door on his hands and knees begging? Face it Ginny, even if it is only for financial support, you need Harry in your life. You don't have a job, nor do you have any money saved up; how do you expect to take care of a child _on your own_?"

"I—I'll move back in with my parents!" she said proudly. "How does that sound!"

"Absolutely idiotic," she said mockingly. "Although I shouldn't be surprised—hearing it come from you and all." Ginny stared at her like she'd been slapped. Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks and the muscles in her stomach tense up.

"I'll have my dress back now, please," Ginny growled. Hermione reached into her bag, sifted around, and pulled out the scrap of silk. "You may leave whenever you so desire," she said, glancing towards the door.

* * *

"Hermione!" Draco said cheerfully upon opening the door. "Why what a pleasant surprise! And to think I was worried you hated me now."

"Well, you're the only person I haven't managed to completely isolate from me in the past twenty-four hours," she said with a small smile. "And I figured I should probably apologize for ending the date so early last night."

"Nonsense! Any date going longer than an hour is just tedious." He beckoned her inside. "I could never afford more than an hour of your time anyway," he added with a wicked grin.

Hermione tried to glare at him, but the look evaporated with a small snicker. She was too distracted by the home to be mad at the inhabitants. Without Lucius, Malfoy Manor seemed to have lost its grandeur. The peacocks were gone, and the furniture was looking threadbare and worn. Without all of the fireplaces lit the rooms looked less cavernous, and they seemed to have lost their aura of evil when the Death Eaters left.

"Draco?" a high voice called from upstairs. "Who's here?" A tall elegant woman dressed in royal blue silk robes appeared at the top of the staircase. Even without her husband by her side, Narcissa Malfoy was the epitome of Pureblood beauty and grace. A perfectly structured face, a perfectly practiced walk, Narcissa exuded Wizarding royalty. Astoria was the same way, all charm and high cheekbones. Hermione definitely wasn't. And Narcissa clearly noticed this as her tiny nose wrinkled up disgustedly and her red lips pulled themselves into a frown. "Oh," she said, her voice dripping with disapproval as she examined Hermione's conservative, Muggle clothes, her plain hair, and her unimpressive face. "And you would be?"

"Mum," Draco said, a nervous smile plastered to his face, "You've met Hermione before, remember? She was at the Christmas party and, ah, the Easter party, last week? She's the girl I went out with last night. You've met her before, I'm sure."

"Oh," said Narcissa, one pencil-thin eyebrow arching upwards, "so this is the girl."

"Um, how do you do?" Hermione asked politely. Narcissa took this as her cue to descend the staircase, although she didn't seem to be in any hurry to meet her son's new friend. Once her foot touched the foyer floor, she turned to Draco and said, audibly, "I'm not sure you know what is and what is not appropriate to bring into our home." Then she turned to Hermione. Up close Hermione could see the slight bags under her eyes and the caking of her lipstick. Narcissa whispered to her, still loud enough for Draco to hear, "I don't know what's acceptable in _your kind's _world, but here popping over unannounced is highly displeasing. As is overstaying your welcome," she added with a hiss. She took one final glance at Draco, turned around and ascended the stairs. A few seconds later they heard a door slam.

"I am so, so sorry," said Draco, his eyes wide.

"I should go," Hermione could feel a heavy blush rising high in her face. She turned to leave.

"No, Hermione, please," he said, reaching out to grab her hand. She turned around and he was looking at her quite earnestly. "I'm sorry for what my mother said, and for taking you to that restaurant last night, and for laughing at your dress, but I do really like you. I'm trying the best that I can, Hermione, and I know it's really not working out very well, but please, could you give me a second chance?"

"You want to go out again?"

"I'll choose a better restaurant this time, I swear I will."

"And I'll try not to dress like a prostitute this time," she added, smiling. Draco's face broke out into a grin.

"Seriously? You'll go out with me again?" She nodded happily. "Oh thank you so much! I swear, you won't regret this!" He was smiling so much that she just had to lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door, hoping that he was right.


	9. Chapter 9

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **I made a vow to update quicker from now on...hopefully it works out. Also, many thanks go out to RadicalReason, sjrodgers108, Azrulai, and Silverbirch for reviewing chapter eight.

* * *

If she hadn't been fighting with Ginny, this week would have been one of the best of Hermione's life. She'd gone shopping for the first time in a long time, converting her Galleons back to Muggle money and checking out some of London's shops. She'd actually found a dress that didn't make her look like a street walker _or _a nun—she knew there had to be a happy medium and she'd found it in a dark blue, knee-length ensemble and nice shoes. She'd also used the telephone for the first time in ages; calling up her mother to finally discuss her new boyfriend. Her parents—no longer with modified memories—had moved back to Europe, but had opted to travel rather than settle down and restart their dental practices. They'd spent Christmas in Italy and Easter in India and didn't seem to have any desire to return to boring Britain. She was lucky to have gotten through to her mum on her second try—her parents were in Athens and the hotel they were in just happened to carry a signal.

Still, something gnawed at the back of Hermione's mind: she hadn't seen Harry for the past week. She'd seen Ginny at Madam Malkin's—she was buying maternity robes whilst Hermione was getting an old set of work robes mended. Ginny had shot her an icy glare before bustling out of the store. Harry was nowhere to be seen. They rarely passed at work, so Hermione wasn't sure whether he'd been coming in or not. Ministry security forbade outsiders from seeing Auror work records, so that was hopeless.

But she couldn't worry about that right now, because now she was going on a date with a nice young man, and hopefully he wouldn't take her to Burger King. She smiled to herself. Despite all of her past experiences, her intuition, and her general good sense, she had found herself fancying Draco. Well, perhaps not full-on fancying, but at least she didn't hate him as much as she did four or five years ago. He seemed to have developed some manners in their time apart, even though his mother was absolutely atrocious and his father was in prison. She didn't know if this complete personality change was permanent, or just a result of grieving. Whatever it was, it was making him more tolerable, and it seemed like fewer and fewer people at work were complaining about the son of a convicted conspirator working at the Ministry.

Hermione took one last glance in the mirror. She could look nice if she tried, she was beginning to realize. Maybe even pretty. After hours of work, her hair was smooth and shiny, her eyes were more pronounced, and her face actually had some color in it. Her lips were a little pale though. Maybe she should put on a bit of gloss?

She was just about to go back to her room when Draco knocked on her door.

* * *

"I hope you don't mind the restaurant," said Draco, glancing around the room. He had taken her to a new place in Diagon Alley; all you had to do was tell the waiter what you wanted, and with a flick of their wand the food would materialize right in front of you, warm and perfectly spiced. "I just didn't want to risk another Muggle, er, endeavor."

"It's not a problem," she said politely. She glanced down at her steak and back up at Draco. "Make I ask you something a bit personal?"

He gave her a funny look. "Um, sure, I guess."

"Please, don't take offense to this, but during school you were quite possibly the most insufferable person I ever knew." He was still staring at her, the look still etched in his features. "You insulted my blood status every time I came within ten feet of you, you tried to get Harry expelled at least three times, and you nearly got us all killed, oh, I don't know, at least once a year maybe?"

"Is this going anywhere?"

"Yes. I'm just curious, and you don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable, but what changed?" He stared at her longer, his eyes clouding and narrowing. "You don't have to—"

"No," he interrupted her. "No, I'm just not sure where to start." Draco let out a sigh and pushed his hands through his hair. "I guess it was Astoria. I met her just after the war, and, at that point, she loathed me. Probably as much as you did. See, her father was Muggle-born, so he'd been in prison for a year, and she was still mad about releasing Death Eaters into the school and allowing Dumbledore to be killed, especially after Snape was proven innocent. But I had fallen for her the moment I saw her, so I tried to prove that I was more than a Muggle-hating prat." He shook his head sadly. "I think she took me as her own personal challenge; she'd drag me to Muggle restaurants and clubs, she took me to Muggle rights rallies and she raved over that big speech you gave a couple of years ago. I guess she ended up falling for me too.

"But it was more than Astoria," he said firmly. "Especially when my father tried to regain his status by overthrowing the Ministry. I'd spent too much time in the real world to throw it all away and become a Death Eater again. I liked having the freedom to say what I want and to be around the people I liked, regardless of blood status. I liked not having to worry about getting murdered if I did my job wrong. And it wasn't as though I'd had a big personality change. I just grew up. And once I did that I realized that I couldn't be a total bigot and still live in the real world." He finally smiled.

"Wow," whispered Hermione. "I didn't think—I guess I didn't know that a person could change so much."

"Maybe it's because you've been an adult ever since you set foot inside of Hogwarts." Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it. "But I guess things have probably changed for you too."

Hermione nodded, keeping the eye contact. "Well, yeah, things have changed since last year, I guess. When I was married to Ron I'd picture a life with children. I thought about family holidays, sending our kids off to Hogwarts. I'm sure you pictured the same things with Astoria," Draco grimaced a bit. "But before we were married, during the war? I didn't have any plans then. I was living in the woods with two other teenagers, both with as little direction as me. We were just trying to live through the day. I didn't have any thoughts past the impending battle, once we found all the Horcruxes...I guess I doubted we'd live through it all."

"I never thought about that way," admitted Draco. "I guess I always knew Voldemort—" a few people near their table glanced over, their eyes wide, but Draco waved them off. "I knew he couldn't stay in power forever. I never thought of his reign as a permanent thing. But I never pictured a coup within the year—after all, he was in power for years during the seventies. Even when the Battle of Hogwarts began I figured Potter would disappear and people would escape the school before the Death Eaters. I never thought people would die."

Hermione gave him a rueful smile. "It's over," she sighed. "We shouldn't talk about it anymore. Ron left his brother's funeral and never said a word about the war for the rest of his life. And I think he was best to do that. It's better just to move forward."

"Yes," Draco said, looking thoughtful. "You know, it's nearly been five years." His eyes were glinting mischievously. "You don't think Rita Skeeter's going to write a tacky anniversary piece on it, do you?"

Hermione barely suppressed a laugh. "Oh no, she's much too classy to do something like that," she said sarcastically.

"I can see it now," he said dramatically. "'The Heroes of the War: Tales of Haunting Memories and Survivor's Guilt.' But of course, Rita has much too much integrity to write something like that."

"Ahem," the waiter cleared his throat noisily behind them. They both managed to stop laughing and turn around to see their rather irritated waiter holding a dark green bottle, seemingly procured from nowhere. "May I offer you some of our _finest _wine?"

"Oh, I don't drink—" Hermione said, but Draco quickly interrupted her.

"We'll take a bottle," he said, smiling toothily at the unpleasant waiter.

"Draco!" hissed Hermione as he poured her a glass. "I haven't had alcohol since—"

"Hermione," he said calmly, "one glass isn't going to kill you."

Hermione sighed, feeling exhausted and somewhat beaten. "All right. But one glass, that's it. I'm not getting drunk with you tonight, Draco Malfoy."

* * *

**A/N: **The plot thickens...somewhat.


	10. Chapter 10

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks to sjrodgers108, Azrulai, and Silverbirch (whose review made me laugh quite hard) for reviewing chapter nine.

* * *

Hermione had never actually had a troll crawl inside of her head and start clubbing her brain to death, but she was pretty sure that was what was happening right now. Her throat was parched, her head was pounding, she felt like she'd been hit with the Cruciatus Curse, and she had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there. Slowly, she pried open an eye, only to allow the troll in her head to double his attempts on her brain. Wherever she was, it was very _bright. _

"HERMIONE?" someone thundered right in her ear. "HERMIONE? ARE YOU AWAKE?" Whoever was near her was really, really, unnecessarily loud. They didn't seem to realize how inappropriately loud they were being, as they continued screaming at her until she wrenched open her eyes, only for them to yell, "HERMIONE! DRINK THIS!" A blurry gray and yellow figure was thrusting something bubbly and green in her face. Hoping only to quench her thirst, Hermione allowed herself to take a tentative sip. The moment the elixir hit her throat, her surroundings sharpened to a point of crystal clarity. The gray and yellow blur took the form of Draco, the brightness around her shaped itself into her double bed and bedroom walls, her dehydration passed, the troll in her head apparently died, and the pain in her limps disappeared.

"It's a Sobriety Potion. You've got a decent amount of ingredients in this place." Hermione glanced up at Draco, who was dressed in his same clothes from last night, then back over at the other side of her bed, which had clearly been slept in. She looked down at herself, and realized she was still wearing the blue dress, although it was far more wrinkled and bunched then it had been before. She still didn't remember what had happened between now and...she thought for a moment. Between now and...when she finished her second glass of wine. Had she asked for more? She took another look up at Draco, who quickly looked away, and was quickly torn between her sudden urge to run and her sudden urge to vomit.

"If we had sex," she muttered as soon as she could string words together coherently, "I am going to _murder _you."

He laughed (he actually laughed!) before he said, "Don't worry Granger. I always wait until the third date to sleep with a girl. I'm classy like that."

"I hate you," she said, trying to straighten her hair and dress with as much dignity as possible. "I really do. Why the hell did you keep giving me wine?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were new to the drinking game." She glared at him. "What? You're twenty-three; I figured you'd at least gotten pissed once."

"It's not like I've never had alcohol before," snapped Hermione. "I just didn't realize wine was so much stronger than Firewhiskey."

"It isn't," said Draco, smirking arrogantly and raising an eyebrow, "but when you drink four or five glasses, now that's a bit of a different story." A hot blush spread over Hermione's face.

"Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid," she groaned, burying her head in her palms.

"Well, besides not sleeping with me, which I always consider stupid," he said with a wink, "we ran into Ginny when we were leaving—I guess she meeting up to talk with Harry at the same restaurant—and you said quite a few interesting things." Hermione looked up, mortified. "But I don't think you two are fighting anymore. I couldn't really tell though, she just kept laughing."

"What did I say to her?" whispered Hermione, really not wanting to know at all.

"Just that you loved her and needed her in your life and if she kept being angry at you you'd throw yourself out of a building."

"If you're lying—"

"I'm not," by the crook of his eyebrow and his laughing grin she could see he was telling the truth. Hermione shook her head, shame building up inside her like water pushing on a dam. Her stomach was churning despite the Sobriety Potion, her palms were sweating, and she almost felt worse than she had when she'd first woken up.

"I can't believe this," she sighed. "I've never done anything like this before."

"I can tell. You have no idea how to hold your liquor."

"I'm serious! This isn't me, Draco. I don't act like this. I don't hold my glass out for more wine. I don't wear slutty dresses. And I can assure you I've never been mistaken for a prostitute or an alcoholic before!"

"Maybe that's the problem," said Draco. Hermione furrowed her brow, confused. "I mean, you're not used to letting go, so when you do you have no idea when to stop. When you don't want to look like a nun you end up looking like a whore. When you decide to drink something stronger than tea you turn into a complete lush." He shrugged smiling at her.

"So, oh brilliant one," she muttered, standing and straightening her dress again, "what do you think I should do to rectify this situation?"

"Well," he said, laying a hand across her hip and causing her to blush, "I think you should start by sleeping with me."

* * *

"I figured after last night we were done fighting," muttered Hermione to a shocked Ginny, who was still taking in Hermione's wrinkled dress and last night's shoes. "After all, apparently I'll just die without you."

Ginny smirked. "And I was on the way home from your walk of shame, was I?" She welcomed Hermione into her flat, which was considerably cleaner than before.

"Nothing happened Ginny."

"Really," she said, clearly not believing her. "So you're saying Draco had absolutely no intention of shagging you while you were so pissed you could barely put a sentence together?"

"Apparently he's more of a gentleman than we thought. He waited until this morning to proposition me."

"And?" gasped Ginny, her brown eyes widening excitedly.

"I'm not going to take him to bed with me, Ginny," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "In fact, I'm fairly certain that I will not be taking that man out on another date. He seems to have a knack for bringing out the worst in me." She looked at Ginny, who was frowning at her. "However, he did bring up the idea that I should relax more, although right after that he tried to get into bed with me. But still, I'm going to take his advice and learn to, 'let loose.'"

"Excellent! Let's get you drunk again."

"Absolutely not," she said, shooting her friend a glare. "But I have been thinking of inviting Draco to, well, you're going to think this sounds idiotic, but I'm going to invite him to live with me."

"You're right, that does sound idiotic." Ginny rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows, "You just said he brings out the worst in you and now you want him to live with you? That's such a bad idea you'd think I thought it up myself."

"Look, Ginny, his mother's absolutely horrid, and I have enough space for an extra bedroom. We get along well and I could use a bit of help making the rent every month. I don't see what the problem is."

"You're sending him mixed messages," warned Ginny.

"I'm inviting him to live with me," Hermione said lightly. "No matter what you say."

Ginny just shook her head.

* * *

**A/N: **Please review. It would be really great.


	11. Chapter 11

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Hello again! Gryffindor's Goddess, sjrodgers108, RadicalReason, Silverbirch, Azrulai, and Lilo are all amazing because they reviewed my last chapter, so many thanks goes out to them! If you haven't reviewed, you should try it. It's pretty great. Dumbledore would encourage it.

* * *

Hermione's stomach was twitching with butterflies the moment she Apparated into the Ministry of Magic. Today was the day she was going to ask Draco to live with her. For the first time in years she was _excited. _She was smiling at strangers, walking with a bit of a skip in her step, and saying hello to people to whom she usually gave a stiff nod.

"Harry!" she called. Harry turned, missing the doors of the lift close. His eyes narrowed, searching for whoever had called after him. Hermione waved him over. His eyebrows furrowed and his green eyes narrowed even more, but he came over. "Hi, how are you?" she bubbled. Before he could answer she continued, "I got to talk to Ginny yesterday. Are you two back together yet?"

Harry stared at her, clearly dumbfounded at her complete personality change. "Are you on drugs?" he finally said.

"No," she said with a giggle. "I'm excited!"

Harry gave her a guarded look. "Why?"

"Well, don't tell anyone but," she dropped her voice, "I'm going to ask Draco to move in with me!" His jaw dropped. "Isn't it great?"

Disgust was taking over Harry's features, his mouth settling into a scowl and his jaw clenching. "I cannot believe you," he snarled.

"What?"

"Ron's still warm in the grave and you go on and shack up with the first bloke who comes along? What is wrong with you?" People were turning to stare. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry beat her to the punch. "I don't get you, Hermione. For months you barely spoke to anyone, now here comes Draco, who apparently has gotten a lobotomy or shock treatment since he tried to kill us in Hogwarts, and you're a completely new person!" He was yelling now. "You know, I get that Ron wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life in mourning, but I'm fairly certain he wouldn't want you running off with the son of the man who's responsible for his death," he spat, turning around.

"You think I haven't thought about this?" asked Hermione, causing Harry to stop in his path. "Do you think I haven't talked to him? That he hasn't proven to me that he's changed? Because he has. He's not seventeen anymore, Harry. He's on our side now."

Harry turned back and shook his head. "You're going to end up disappointed, Hermione. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater." He paused for a second before adding, "And to answer your question: no, Ginny and I haven't gotten back together."

* * *

By the time Hermione had gotten up to her office, the majority of her shock had worn off and been taken over by doubt. Sure, it wasn't surprising that Harry would be upset about her moving on; Ron was his best friend. But Ginny wasn't upset at all, and Ron was her _brother. _And no other Weasley had reacted negatively—although George's idea of sending Draco to McDonald's was a bit wicked. Still, she didn't want to trade in her old family for a new friend.

"Good morning," she called wearily. Draco looked up from the memo he was writing and grinned at her.

"I see you've managed to go twenty-four hours without getting drunk again," he said mockingly. "Or have you discovered one of the many ways to disguise a hangover?"

She rolled her eyes and took a seat at her desk. "So, sorry to spring this on you out-of-the-blue, but I've been thinking lately—"

"Really? That's a switch." Hermione turned around and glared at him. He shrugged as if to say, "It's true!"

"Anyway, I've been thinking that, perhaps, you and I should move in together." If Draco had been drinking coffee, he probably would have spit it out all over the memo he was writing. Instead he just seemed to choke on his own saliva, his hacking cough mixing with laughter. "Move in together?" he finally forced out.

"Yes," said Hermione, through teeth clenched so severely her dentist parents would have heart attacks.

Draco laughed a bit more, "You think we should move in together," he stated.

"Have I not made myself clear?"

"You do realize that living together is about one step below _marriage, _don't you?" Hermione's eyebrows came together. She pursed her lips, thoroughly confused. Draco was still talking though, "I think that's moving a little too fast. We haven't even slept together yet." He wasn't yelling, not even close, but he still said that loud enough for a few people outside the office to laugh a little awkwardly and look a bit confused.

Hermione laughed with them, before she shot Draco another glare and closed the door. "I didn't mean it _that way,_" she hissed. "I don't even think we should continue seeing each other. I meant that you should be my flatmate." He looked confused. "You know, we could split my rent and everything. I've got an extra bedroom and everything."

"You don't want to keep dating," he said flatly. "You not only want to break our relationship off but you actually want me to _move in_ with you and live in your extra bedroom? Hermione, I don't think I've ever heard something this ridiculous before!" He shook his head, "Merlin, I've heard of mixed messages, but this has got to be something from another planet."

"I don't see what the problem is," said Hermione icily. "I just thought, maybe you'd want to live with someone other than your mother." That was kind of a low blow, but he'd started this whole damn argument and he wasn't going to get the last word in. Not like Harry had.

"Don't bring my mum into this," said Draco firmly. He stood up and strode over to her desk, resting a hand on it. "Is this you trying to let go? Or are you just trying to alienate me because you're starting to like me?"

Hermione laughed sharply, "And you seem to think _I'm _the mad one. I just said I don't want to date you, and if I need to make it clearer, then no, I do not like you, fancy you, et cetera. And I don't usually try to push people away by _inviting them into my home._"

"Yes, but you didn't actually think I'd say yes to that, would you?" Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded. "I mean, you knew I wouldn't want to move in with you. You must have know that I'd say no, we'd stop dating, and eventually things would get so awkward that one of us would switch into a new office, thus ending any contact between us."

Hermione paused, her mouth slightly open and her eyes narrowing. "No one thinks like that," she finally said, once the initial shock wore off. Draco looked her in the eye. She returned the stare with as much malice as humanly possible.

"Hermione, I—" He was interrupted by a loud pounding on the window. Percy Weasley, who had been demoted to messenger boy (that wasn't his real title, just what everyone called him) after he hadn't done anything to fight against Voldemort until the very last moment, was standing outside. He looked flushed, like he'd sprinted across the entire Ministry. He knocked again, slightly softer this time now that he had their attention.

Hermione got up and opened the door. "What is it?" she asked tiredly. Still breathing hard, Percy responded, "We just heard...I've just told Harry..." A few panic-based scenarios ran through Hermione's mind: a mass breakout in the Ministry Prisons; Arthur was dead; Voldemort had come back to life and was periodically killing Order members...the last one seemed a bit ridiculous. "We just heard from St. Mungo's; I'm supposed to send out a notice, but you all were so close to her—"

"Who?" gasped Hermione.

"She hasn't been well for awhile, but, ah, it was still quite a surprise," Percy filibustered, his freckled cheeks flushed.

"Get on with it," Draco growled.

"Well, it's Professor McGonagall. She must have had a heart attack, and she, er, died."


	12. Chapter 12

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks to Azrulai, sjrodgers108, silverbirch, lilo, and RadicalReason for reviewing chapter eleven! Also, I have no excuse for the late update. Sorry?

* * *

"She was old," Hermione rationalized. She glanced up at the people around her and then dropped her gaze to her plate. The House Elves had really outdone themselves with the post-funeral food, she realized as she poked at her hardly-touched fillet mignon.

"She was half Dumbledore's age," muttered Harry. He was directly across from her at their four-top table. Draco sat to her left and Ginny was on her right. As far as Hermione knew, she and Harry had yet to make up.

"Well," said Hermione thoughtfully, "Dumbledore was different, wasn't he? Very few wizards in history have grown to be one-hundred and fifty years old."

"It is odd," Draco added softly, his blonde eyebrows pressing together. "She really hadn't had any really bad health problems before, has she?"

"Well, unless you count being hit in the chest by five Stunning Spells, then no, she hasn't." Both Draco and Harry arched an eyebrow at her coolly. "Honestly, she's been through two wars, and I doubt she's come out unscathed from either." They continued staring at her. "What do you think, Ginny?"

"I guess it's a little strange," she said slowly, "that she died right after the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was transferred to St. Mungo's." As was tradition, Hogwarts was gaining and losing a defensive arts teacher every school year. Last year's had supposedly run off with Aberforth Dumbledore, but that was just a rumor. Her replacement, Professor Scorch, had reportedly been diagnosed with Dragon Pox, and was recuperating in St. Mungo's. "Apparently he got sick just a week before she was admitted. And they never really said what she'd died from..." Harry narrowed his eyes at her, staring.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know, seeing things when there's nothing to be seen has gotten you into trouble before, Harry," she said, looking knowingly at Harry. He glared at her. "Maybe we should go," she said, noting the emptying of the grounds as people left in small groups. "We could go get a coffee, possibly continue with this conspiracy theory talk?"

"Sounds good to me," said Draco cheerily. He hadn't brought up Hermione's proposal since it had happened. Harry and Ginny seemed to be getting along better too, or at least tolerating each other. As Hermione picked up her purse she thought she saw a small smile pass between the two of them.

They walked through the gates, passing a few people around their age Hermione somewhat recognized, into the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. A few teenage girls stopped and stared, placing Harry's face from old tabloids and _Prophet _articles, and burst into giggles.

"Let's head to London," Harry said through tightly clenched teeth as a scarlet blush crept up his neck. No one on the busy street noticed as the foursome completely disappeared from sight.

They reconvened on a dirty, but fortunately, nearly empty, London street outside of a grimy looking coffeehouse. "Harry?" Ginny asked sweetly. "Why the hell did you take us here?"

Hermione had to agree with her. The café's windows were covered with so much filth she could barely see inside, flies were buzzing around open rubbish bins, and she was fairly certain the scantily-clad woman standing near the bus sign was not, in fact, waiting for a bus.

"I just," he said loudly enough that the woman near the sign turned and stared. He continued, softer this time, "I just wanted someplace quiet. I didn't think this part of London would be crowded this early in the day."

"I think there's a man doing drugs in that alley," said Draco uncomfortably. Harry rolled his eyes, "You three don't know what it's like," he said brashly, his voice rising again. "Followed by Rita Skeeter day in and day out. Sometimes I just want to go somewhere quiet." He glowered at the three of them before waving away some flies with his left hand.

"We understand Harry," said Hermione uneasily, "but couldn't we have gone some—" Before she could finish her sentence, the scantily-clad woman and the man from the alley had advanced on them; the woman pulling something out from her tube top and both the man and Harry plunging their hands into their pockets.

Bright red lights went off before Hermione, Ginny, or Draco even got a chance to react.

* * *

Hermione was sitting on something cold and hard when she woke up. She dared to crack an eye open and panic coursed through her the moment she got a look at her surroundings. Wherever she was, it closely resembled an old-fashioned prison: a square room with tarnished bars forming one of the walls and a cold stone floor. A single window high above Hermione's head gave a slight view of a darkened sky, making her wonder how long she'd been kidnapped.

The cell was too dark to make out any details other than the moonlight glinting off of the steel bars, so Hermione attempted to reach for her wand, only to discover that her wrists and ankles had been bound. She groaned and swore, and someone very near her whispered, "Hermione?" She didn't respond, trying to recognize the person's whisper. "Hermione, it's me. It's Harry."

"Harry?" she whispered, attempting to inch her way. "What the hell happened back there?"

"Hermione," he sounded panicked now. "That wasn't me back there. I was taken after Ginny kicked me out. I'm guessing that they used Polyjuice Potion to kidnap you all, it would explain all of the hair they took—"

"Who's 'they'?"

"Death Eaters," he said breathlessly. "They've got other victims, too. I hear them torturing someone—a man by the sound of it. They want something from the Ministry, I think. Some sort of secret or key—I haven't heard too much. They haven't spoken to me at all since I got here." He paused and Hermione thought she heard movement to her right. "Hermione, I think we're in Azkaban."

Azkaban. One of the most feared words in the Wizarding world, nearly reaching Voldemort's rank. Hermione had seen pictures in the paper of a decrepit, old prison, with only a few cells still standing in their post-war glory. It was closed now, the Dementors transferred to maximum security cells where dangerous criminals now resided. Azkaban was banned to everyone who wasn't high up in the Ministry—basically Kingsley and a few senior Aurors—but so many innocent people had been imprisoned that a person could hear enough stories to fill their nightmares without even setting foot on the island.

"Harry?" a voice whispered in the dark. Hermione lifted her head, trying to find the exact place from which Ginny's voice had emanated. "Is that you?"

"It's me," he said, forcibly calm. Ginny's eyes were glinting cat-like in the dark, and the room went silent for a moments. For a second Hermione was sure she heard footsteps echoing outside the cell, and perhaps a small glimmer of what could be fire.

"Harry," said Ginny, her voice shaking, "is it true that—" Hermione quickly shushed her, the footsteps growing louder and soon accompanied by rough voices and the bright light of wands. By the time the group reached their cell, Hermione could make out their figures—a tall man with long, scraggly hair, a smaller woman, her hair equally gnarled, a second man, shorter, thinner and scrawnier than his partners, and what looked like a third man, who, unlike the others, stood straight and proud with straight, gleaming hair.

The woman unceremoniously through the cell door open, shining her light into the faces of all its inhabitants. Under the bright light Hermione could see that Draco had been the fourth occupant, and seemed to be the only one who had suffered any damage. Harry was skinnier than before and he did seem to have a large patch of hair missing, but he seemed no worse for the wear. Ginny looked pale and her hair was mussed, but other than that she seemed fine. Draco, on the other hand, looked as though he'd been beaten; suffering large bruises blacking both eyes and a split lip that was still bleeding copiously. He was still unconscious.

The woman hissed a spell and Draco's eyes fluttered open.

"This is it, Lucius," growled the taller man. "Tell us what we need to know or we'll do to him what we've done to _so many others._"

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about," drawled Lucius, sounding only a bit raspier than before.

"God damn it!" shrieked the woman, whirling about face towards the three men. The light caught her face for a moment and Hermione could see wild black eyes bugging out. "You know," she hissed. "You had everything you needed to take over the Ministry until you made some foolishmistake and fucked up _everything_."

"I don't—"

"Everyone knows," the shorter man said softly. "You had everything Lucius. And everyone knows it wasn't a mistake that you made. You gave it up. You couldn't handle getting rid of Mudbloods, but you couldn't stand to betray the people who would come after you the moment you fell from grace. So you faked a flaw—_we know you did—_and we need to know what you did so we can fix what you've done and finish _your_ work."

The tall man with the long dark hair strode into the cell and wrenched Draco to his feet, pointing his wand in his face venomously. "We'll kill him, Malfoy," he growled. "We'll kill all of his little friends and then we'll kill him. And if you don't talk then, I'm under the impression you have a wife. Then we'll go after the rest of your family. You think we won't?" for Lucius had made a noise of protest. The man laughed, sharp and cold. "We'll take all of them. We don't have our old leader's respect for Pureblood. We would gladly take every single one of them, right in front of you, if it means that the people at the top are the people with the _right _to be at the top."

"You have no right—" Hermione spat, and the man turned on her, dropping Draco. "You're first," he growled. "Don't look so shocked, pretty one. You're not pregnant and _you _didn't 'save' the world from the Dark Lord. It's only right we take you first." He turned to Lucius. "Do you know this woman?"

"N-no," he stuttered.

"I do," said the woman gleefully. "She's the little Mudblood who ran around with Potter and Weasley all those years ago. You killed her husband, Sibelius!" She laughed madly, and the man, Sibelius, gripped her shoulder tightly.

"Well, lucky you," he said coolly. "You get to see your beloved again."

Suddenly Ginny screamed. She was laying against one of the stone walls, her eyes wide and her face nearly white. "I think my water broke," she said weakly.

Sibelius rolled his eyes and turned back to the other Death Eaters. Harry muttered, "Nice distraction. You're not even six months along."

"I'm serious!" she moaned.

"Whatever," Sibelius said loosely. He redirected his attention to Lucius. "Anything to say?" Lucius didn't move, his expression not changing from one of complete apathy. "Fine then." He raised his wand.

"For Merlin's sake, Dad!" screamed Draco. "Just tell them!"

"No," Hermione said sharply. She looked Sibelius right in the face. "You can't keep killing people and not expect to get caught. People noticed Harry's personality change when you used the Polyjuice Potion and I'm fairly certain there aren't enough of you to fill in for every single person you plan on killing." She paused for a second, choosing her words carefully. "The Ministry is prepared for another uprising. Kingsley Shacklebolt's a better wizard than all of you combined, and he's got Aurors who are nearly as talented as him. And you best believe they're watching a place like Azkaban. They're not afraid of you," she said icily. "Maybe ten years ago they were, but now? They've just been waiting for something like this."

The men exchanged nervous looks and the grip on Hermione's shoulder was loosened. But the woman, on the other hand, let out an angry, violent shriek. "If you're too scared to do this; I'll just do it myself." She looked Hermione in the eyes before she raised her wand. "No one is going to miss you."

It was at that point that a cacophony of noise took over the old prison. New, pounding footsteps and shouting were coming towards them, and it wasn't long before people were yelling and brightly colored lights were slicing through the air. A body fell near the cell bars. Ginny screamed again, even louder than before. Someone was gripping her shoulder again. But the pounding in Hermione's ears had managed to reduce all of this to background noise as she waited for the green light that meant seeing Ron again.

And all it took was one bright flash to take all of the noise, the pounding, and her worries away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N:** Last chapter! Ah! Thanks to Azrulai, krissie98, sjrodgers108, silverbirch, Akira M, xoxim.s0.h00dxox, and Alchemy Echo for reviewing chapter twelve and to anyone who reviewed any of the chapters. For anyone who read my OC fics surrounding Esme Slain, I will rewrite the prequel story and repost it...someday. I also have a Voldemort-parody fic in the works, which should be up sometime soon. Enjoy the last installment of And Life Goes On!

* * *

"Before I begin, allow me to express how absolutely devastated everyone at the Ministry is about the events of the last twelve hours," said Kingsley, his slow, calm voice doing nothing to ease the gnawing, anxious pain in Draco's stomach. "You will be compensated for your losses in any way possible, and the two Death Eaters caught will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

Draco remained silent, not looking at Kingsley but rather the shiny wood of his desk. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye told him that Harry was looking out the window and Ginny was examining the patterns on the small office's rug.

"What about Hermione?" Ginny finally whispered. The gnawing in Draco's stomach increased tenfold as images of Hermione's body on the cell's floor, not moving, not breathing, not...anything. His hands twitched on the arms of the chair and he attempted to sneak a glance at Ginny's face, but her long red hair concealed it.

"Our healers don't know which curse hit Ms. Granger, but at the time we are fairly certain it wasn't a killing curse." Draco exhaled, his hands relaxing and the gnawing in his stomach subsiding. "They are treating her as quickly as possible, but if they're unable to restore her breathing, then the future may be grim."

"And what about the other Death Eater?" Harry asked quietly. "He disapparated with Malfoy, didn't he?"

"That is the point I have been trying to get to, Mr. Potter." Kingsley took a breath before beginning, "We believe that man to be Sibelius Scorch, an Death Eater on Voldemort's outer circle since the time he joined. From the confessions of Isidore Stanley and Obadiah Lawrence we've managed to gather that he's been trying to find a way back into the Ministry since the uprising. We've had Aurors track him before—his Death Eater status hasn't been confirmed before now—and he is most likely the mastermind behind both the Weasley and the Greengrass murders." Draco's heart plummeted down to his shoes. Kingsley smiled sympathetically.

"We are lucky enough to have a third neo-Death Eater in our prisons; we have recently discovered Avery Jenner living under the disguise of Lucius Malfoy. From his confession we've deduced that the real Lucius Malfoy was captured several months ago and has been held in Azkaban—an area which apparently has not been as well guarded as it should have been." Harry let out a little derisive snort which Kingsley promptly ignored. "The odds that Sibelius will attempt to kidnap his loved ones again are fairly strong." He looked over at Draco. "Because of this, we are requesting that you and your mother go into the Wizards Protection Program."

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know what that is," Draco said quietly.

"The Ministry will hide both you and your mother, possibly in the same place, but we can't make any promises because you're of age. Typically it will someplace else in Europe, although on occasion we'll send families over to the Americas or Australia, if you have family there. I'll speak to your mother and we can have you relocated within the next forty-eight hours."

Draco nodded numbly. This was it. He was leaving England forever. All of the pain, all of the friends he'd lost would be gone. No more reminders. No more nothing. He looked over at Harry and Ginny who were both looking at him sympathetically. "It's for the best," Ginny said kindly.

Draco couldn't help but wonder, _the best for whom?_

* * *

On the day they left, Draco took one last look at two thing: the _Daily Prophet, _and his reflection. The headline on the front page of the _Prophet_ read _Hermione_ _Granger Still Comatose After Brutal Death Eater Attacks. _It went on to tell a heartwarming story about her many accomplishments and how her the assailant (whom they had apparently decided was Sibelius) was still on the loose and extremely dangerous. In a smaller article, the words read _Malfoy Family Missing, Presumed Dead, _a nice little fake article meant to deter future captors.

In the mirror in the front room Draco examined his features one last time. Soon enough Ministry workers would come by their house to alter his and Narcissa's appearances. Darker eyes and hair, a new nose, and a complete new set of fingerprints would transform them into the two newest residents of whatever new country they'd call home now.

"Are you packed?" asked Narcissa, right in his ear. He turned and saw his mother, possibly for the last time. She looked impeccable as usual, her hair pulled back tightly and her makeup completely flawless. She glanced at the _Prophet _in his hand, her eyes catching the front article. "You cared for her, didn't you?"

"She was a friend," he responded quickly, turning away.

"A friend? Just like Gregory and Vincent?" When he said nothing she continued. "I don't see how you can leave so easily. I lost everything when your father was incarcerated, in fact, if not for you I feel I would have moved somewhere nicer than London years ago. But you have reasons to stay. You have job you enjoy, or at least tolerate. You have friends who tolerate you, if not enjoy your company. I understand that this house, this city, even this country reminds you have parts of your life you'd rather not revisit, but this is also where you've found someone you love. It surprises me that you're so willing to leave her behind." She paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in past Draco's skin. "And that's what you're doing. You'll never see this woman again, Draco. Do you know that? Do you know if you are prepared to go the rest of your life without someone you love?"

He was ready to answer her. Ready to tell her he had no choice. Ready to tell her that if he stayed in England Sibelius would find him, would find _her, _and that he was ready to kill anyone to get the information out of Lucius. But he was also ready to tell the Minister no. Tell him that he was going to stay here and wait for Hermione to heal. He was ready to ask her to go into hiding with him, and if she said no then he was ready to stay out in the open and let Sibelius do his worst.

But the doorbell rang, and he didn't say or do any of this. Because more than anything, he was ready to go.


End file.
